Through the fog
Pain drives out language; fatigue fogs the mind. A number of years ago, before my chronic pain got so intense, I used to be clear-headed, quick and sharp, but now I struggle to string words together. I labour over sentences and, with much effort, try to get some flow into the words. I pause and wait for my thoughts or opinions or feelings to surface through the noise of pain; or I try to wrestle it out of me, plucking at words and pulling sentences together. And it ain't easy, let me tell you. Writing is now a very slow process. Speaking is a bit easier, but is often tiring and never quite matches my sense of what's inside me. I miss my clear, accessible mind.
It's hard to write about what it's like not being able to write! Hard to explain what's happening in those blank, muddled times. Or those times when things spin around in my head, and though I sense that there are clear thoughts in there somewhere, I just can't grab hold of them. It's hard to explain what it's like to drag thoughts out of a pain-addled brain.
There are many things I would like to write about and discuss in detail with others, but it gets mucked up. Staring, staring at the empty page, the white comment box. I read online discussions and then gaze blankly at the comments form. I know I have an opinion and would like to join in, but all I get is the thick, sleepy static of mental noise that overwhelms articulate thought. When I do write, words and concepts come slowly, and I often fail to reflect the complexity or clarity of my thinking.
I know I'm not alone in my battle with this mental murkiness. People with talk about losing many mental skills like math, short term memory and a sense of direction to ; folks on my chronic pain listserv write about having a horrible time trying to speak clearly through their pain to doctors and loved ones and many medications, like those that treat depression or pain, mute our mental capacity. Many of us live in a fog.
I wish I could just let it out, all that is clear and bright and creative. If I could, it might look something like this:
[Visual description: Six black and white child-like drawings of people, many with visible disabilities. The one in the middle has its mouth open and has a flourish of spiraling, black and coloured lines coming out of the top of its head.]
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Comments
I know what you mean, though I believe another problem of mine is causing the same difficulties... (I was originally dx'ed fibro, but not sure if it still applies given the second diagnosis.)
I'm commenting in part, though, because I saw a column slamming fibromyalgia as probably a psychological issue for overweight people, and a primary fibro painkiller (which my mother is on, for her lupus-fibro) as merely dulling the senses rather than handling pain:
I am going to comment both in "comments" there and in a private email to the author later, but really wanted to let the fibro community (I assume you know some in it, as I know others with my impairments :) speak up firsthand, since you know fibromyalgia & its meds best. (Also, the column made me angry enough that I keep stumbling over my own words... grrrrr, I hate ableism!)
Yes! Your drawing is exactly right. Thanks from a fibrofogger.
Jesse, I'm so glad that this drawing makes sense to you. I know everyone's experience is different but still, we do share a lot of common ground. This image really says so much more than I could ever manage in written form.
Moggymania,thanks for bringing Mark's article to my attention. He does get it all wrong with Fibromyalgia. There are strict diagnostic criteria for FM and 99% of doctors accept that it exists. While there certainly are potential problems with Lyrica, the drug does not legitimize FM, that's for sure. Fibromyalgia has been solidly diagnosable for many years now. I understand why he questions Big Pharma and the FDA, but his arguments are a bit skewed and his zeal for ecstasy rather clouds his judgment, I think. I can understand your anger and wanting to be clear-headed in order to comment on his post. I look forward to reading your response to him.
Onward through the fog!
I love your words and yet realize that there is much in there that isn't said. There is no room in writing for the agonizing pause, the onomatopoeia for a wordless confusion. That you for the effort... [ ] and here's my moment of silence to you.